Ginger was hard at work, ignoring the several bystanders as they began to gather at the strange sight. Paying the questioners no mind, Ginger continued to construct a small campfire and fashioned several long benches from old logs he, mysteriously, found around the Bronx; an area of New York known for its sprawling forests and large trees. After spending much time meticulously crafting and arranging the seating he welcomed everyone to take a seat. 

“Come friends, gather around the campfire. It’s nearly Halloween and time to share our spookiest stories, tales and legends. A quick thank you to Skittles- for arranging the festivities.” 

Ginger took a seat around the fire and began stoking the flames. As the embers burst upward he began telling his tale. 

“There is an old folktale told around campfires in New York every year, an old legend that sends shivers down the spine of every child. A scary story told only in whispers; the tale of the Ginger with the Pumpkin Head. 

The legend spoke of a young man with ginger hair, who had always been an oddball in the town. He had a weird fascination with pumpkins; year after year he grew bigger and more bigger pumpkins, carving them into haunting faces and terrifying visages. These pumpkins provoked a deep-seeded fear in whoever dared to look at them. This was until one fateful autumn night, the town awoke to find the ginger haired man’s house had gone up in flames. The ginger man’s body was never found and the area was left unused, abandoned; and soon the ginger man and his pumpkins were forgotten.  

On the following Halloween, the legend came to life. As the children in town were trick-or-treating a cold, sinister wind rustled through the old pumpkin patch, stirring up a greater evil. A faint glow caught the attention of five of the more adventurous children. Fueled by their sense of curiosity, they crept through the overgrown vines of the pumpkin patch to discover the source of this eerie glow. Hundreds of intricately carved pumpkins, each with a distorted face, leered at the children, their hollow glowing eyes following their every move. 

At the center of the patch, they found the remains of the Ginger man’s house. Standing amidst the wreckage was the ginger man himself, or what was left of him. His body was horrifically burned. His head was replaced entirely by a grotesque pumpkin head, carved into a hideous grin with jagged teeth.  He turned his gaze towards the children; his eye-less eyes poured malice. He clutched his wickedly sharp carving knife in his gnarled, vine covered hands. He let out an ominous and echoing cackle, and began advancing upon the children; his knife reflecting the glow from the jack-o-lantern and casting a ghostly sheen on his grotesque pumpkin head. 

The town was caught off guard by the terrifying cries and screams of the children. Many gathered and quickly rushed to the old pumpkin patch to investigate, but it was too late. Only a field of pumpkins remained. Sitting on the burned husk of the Ginger man’s house were five freshly carved pumpkins, each with a strangely pained and twisted face. 

The children were never found. and the Ginger with the Pumpkin Head had vanished into the night, leaving behind only a haunting memory. 

Every year since, the people of town would leave an offering of the most perfect pumpkin on their doorstep hoping to appease the Ginger and protect their children from the horror lurking in the pumpkin patch.”

Ginger paused after finishing his story and sat back on his seat. Happy Halloween folks. Feel free to use the campfire to share your own scary tales and remember, don't forget to tip your storytellers. 

Authority gathers around the campfire that Ginger had constructed, the flames bringing comfort on such a cold day. He set down his foldable camping chair and placed himself upon it, picking up a stick off the ground and piercing a marshmallow on it.

The marshmallow roasts above the fire while Authority listens to Ginger's pumpkin story,occasionally shooting a glance at Ginger, whose eyes are hidden by the pumpkin on his head. Could he have had a personal connection to the story he related?

After Ginger is done and Authority finishes his chewy and caramelised marshmallow, he clears his throat and begins speaking with his low voice.

"I suppose I can share a story of my own well, some say it's a fabrication while others claim it really happened, either way it's a fairly well known tale. Once upon a time there was a gathering similar to this one, where people told each other stories, each trying to outdo the other. There was a prize for whoever was deemed to have the best story and people fiercely competed to outdo one another."

"Many different stories were told, those of underground dealings gone wrong, those of a vampire slayer descending into a castle, those of art theft, political prisoners and lawyers, even one of beating a hotdog as strange as that may sound."

"Either way, the stories themselves don't really matter. What matters is what happened immediately after. One by one our storytellers started disappearing from society. Their bodies would be found, mangled, horribly disfigured, their insides strewn across the floor, as if they were torn apart and discarded after the act. It seemed like every day another dead writer was be found."

"Rumors started going around, that it was their little competitive storytelling event that did them in. That it was a haunted gathering. The organiser denied it, yet somehow that very organiser was the only one left standing in the end, while the storytellers all mysteriously died one-by-one, the culprit unknown."

"No prizes were ever handed out, there were no recipients left to receive it. Even relating this urban legend to you sends a chill down my spine, it's horrifying to recall."

Authority slowly turns his face towards Ginger, the underside of his face being lit by the campfire between the two of them. The expression on his face is stone-cold, with no visible emotion in his gaze. He then asks with a low voice, looking Ginger directly into the eyes through the slits of his pumpkin:

"Ginger, is there any prizes for this storytelling contest of yours?"

Ginger clapped excitedly when Authority finished his tale. "My, my that was quite the tale you had there. I've never heard such a dramatic version of it, but clearly someone has been working on their Halloween tales! We really should set up a collection bin for our guest story-tellers don't you think? Let me see what we have here that can work..." 

Quickly rummaging through the pile of logs and trash he had collected as fuel for his campfire, Ginger produced an old, battered, pageboy cap. Holding it aloft and waving it around he exclaimed, "Ah ha! This should work perfectly for collecting tips. If you enjoy the fire, any of our storytellers, or just feeling into the Halloween spirit feel free to leave a tip in the hat!"

Turning back to look at Authority through the slits in his pumpkin mask, he took on a tone of extreme gravitas "Perhaps, if enough people are sufficiently scared by your story it will be submitted for publishing in my new scary book series Gingerbumps. I've been told it is one of the greatest honors a scary storyteller can achieve." 

Ginger looked at the gathering crowd. "Anyone want to go next?" 

Sniffler shivered as a cool breeze blew gently across his neck. He popped up his collar on his overcoat. As the lantern he held illuminated his way, he saw before him a few of his crew members gathered by a campfire. He took a set amongst his friends. He greeted his comrades and put his paws out towards the fire to warm his ancient bones.

“You know gentlemen, this weather and time of year reminds me of an experience I once had. I was travelling along a lonely road in my motor vehicle. As I twisted and turned down that desolate road my car began to splutter and slowly ground to a halt.  Damn and blast I cried and pounded the steering wheel with my paw. Looking around all I could see was creaking trees lit by the moonlight. Using the moonlight, I was able to locate my map and I quickly guessed at my location. I showed that I should be near a motel. So, I resolved to find my way to a warm bed and deal with my car in the morning. Stepping out of the car I heard the cry of coyotes in the distance and the hooting of an owl. It was all very spooky my friends. So, I began to walk”.

Sniffler paused for a moment and took a swing from a hipflask he produced from his pocket. He offered it to his friends and continued his story.

“So, I continued walking for what felt like hours. My way was lit by the eerie moonlight that shone through the trees. Soon in the distance, I saw the shape of a building. As I approached gravel began to crunch under my feet as I left the road. Soon I reached the building. It was an old, abandoned barn. Its wooden walls crumbled, and its roof creaked in the wind. I was tired by this point. It had been hours, and I was weary from my travels and walk. As the rain began to fall, I made the decision to enter that barn”.

Sniffler shuddered.

“So, I placed my paws on the cold metal handle and pulled with all my might. The metal rollers unused for years squeaked as I pulled it open. I don’t mind telling you I was afraid at that moment as I stared into the empty void of darkness. As I stepped inside that barn I was plunged into darkness. The hairs on my neck stood up. With a shaking paw, I took my lighter from my pocket and lit it. Do you know what I saw? What did I find in that barn? It would change my life forever.  Gentlemen in that barn was…… Absolutely nothing”.

Sniffler chuckled to himself and clapped his paws together. Standing up he placed his hipflask in his pocket.

“And that gentleman is the tale of the old empty barn”.

Sniffler turned on his heels and headed off to see what else was going on in the streets.